Hero of War
by Deja Vu 22
Summary: The war in Ishval is beginning to wind down. The Flame Alchemist has amassed a reputation of the bringer of death and destruction. In a few more months, the war will be declared won, and the soldiers sent home. Alone on the outskirts of a battlefield, Mustang is caught in a near-fatal explosion. His survival only because of two doctors named Rockbell.
1. Chapter 1

A doctor had to remain detached from the pain around them. If they allowed themselves to devolve into empathy, they would become useless to their patients. This truth remained during any scenario, from a sterilized surgical theater in Central's best hospital to a small automail shop in the country. It applied, even, to a sandy house on the edge of a warzone, filled to the brim with dead and dying innocents of war.

Urey Rockbell reminded himself of this as he dry heaved against said sandy house, trying to get a grip on himself while the house was relatively quiet, before the next wave of terrified people were shoved into their triage center. He reminded himself that he couldn't save everyone, that some injuries were just too much to survive. He was doing what he could. The unfortunate survivors missing one or more limbs wouldn't be in pain forever, just as long as he did this right.

And he didn't have time to break down like this, they NEEDED him!

He pulled away from his support against the house only long enough for his stomach to once again rebel and send him bending over once again, trying to expel contents that hadn't been there since this morning.

A doctor needed to remain detached from everything so that they could do their job, but this in itself was an impossibility. A doctor was a human being. And only a human being that cared would ever find themselves in the position of a doctor; a doctor that made a difference, anyway. Urey had known this since he first started in the profession, his mother reminding him in that wise way she had exactly what happens when a doctor just isn't enough.

Still. It was a hard pill to swallow.

"Urey!" A familiar, and welcome, voice called from inside the house. "Incoming wounded!" He allowed himself to relish in the sound, her professional tone cooling his shattered nerves. God, he loved that woman.

There were noises of bustle from inside, the desperate preparation for wounds that could never be prepared for. The assistants were muttering amongst themselves in both Ishvalan and Amestrian as they struggled to get the equipment together, attempting to anticipate who they may receive. Less injured patients were moved out of the way, up into the second story or the nearby house.

Alright. He had a job to do. He needed to get to it.

Upon entering the house, the efficiency of the assistants quickly became apparent. Where before every cot and several spaces on the floor had been occupied, the room was nearly empty. The previously used spaces had been quickly wiped down with antiseptic and the bed sheets changed. Tools were cleaned and organized beside the beds. The remaining patients too critical to move were either sleeping or nearly deathly quiet, hidden by what little privacy they could provide with sheets hanging from the ceiling around their beds.

Urey exchanged a glance with his wife, her professional calm only slightly marred by the concern in her eyes. He forced a weak smile to assure her that, for now at least, he was alright. They had both had their fair share of breakdowns over the course of the war, and tonight they would do what they could to combat the despair that accumulated over the day.

But right now, they had a job. Sarah acknowledged his smile with one of her own and a professional nod, then turned to their newest arrival being lugged through the door by two familiar Ishvalans.

Knowing that worse injuries were sure to come soon enough, judging by the explosions that had rocked the very earth about an thirty minutes ago, Urey helped filter the incoming wounded to other medical assistants. The man with a gunshot wound to the collarbone went to Paulik; he had the most experience with shattered bones from projectiles. A woman with a leg crushed from fallen debris was handed off to Jordans.

Around him, people were moving frantically, claiming their own patients and working to triage them as quickly as possible. Experience had taught them the importance of dealing with each injury as quickly, if not thoroughly, as possible. The amount of patients would soon outnumber the medics. Then decisions would have to be made. They would all work to put the decisions off for as long as possible.

"Dr. Rockbell!" Called from the doorway. Urey turned on his heels, finding an Ishvalan and young Amestrian volunteer propping up an individual between the two of them. Paul, the kid that had followed them from Resemboul to help, was grappling awkwardly with his burden, holding the figure by his charred waistband and the opposite shoulder rather than looping his charge's arm around his neck as his Ishvalan counterpoint had.

The doctor's keen eyes quickly picked out the man's blackened hand hanging limply behind Paul, his entire side deformed and entire parts still smoking. "Critical burn victim." The Ishvalan told Dr. Rockbell in a thick accent as they lugged the man to the nearest bed, lifting him onto the bed with sheer force.

Urey strode to meet them, filching bandages and antibiotics from a currently unused table as he went. He called over his shoulder for Sarah, knowing she would bring more bandages when she saw the extent of this man's injuries.

"Where'd you find him?" He asked Paul, looking over the man with a critical eye before he even touched him. Some patches of his black hair had burnt off, but the majority of his face had been at least somewhat protected. The remains of a blue uniform clung to the man's skin. His right side was noticeably more burnt than his left, as if he had turned to shield himself. "Roll him onto his less injured side," he instructed. They carefully propped him up so the worst of the burns were easily accessible.

"He was under the rubble of a crumbled building, Dr.," Paul told him. "We think it was the epicenter of the blast."

"The epicenter?" Urey repeated incredulously, gingerly touching the man's neck to find a pulse and hovering the other hand above his mouth to detect the small wisps of breath. "He should be charred to a burnt crisp if he was that close."

Paul just shrugged helplessly. Sarah slid into place at Urey's side and the doctor put his disbelief on hold. "Alright, we've got this. Keep up the good work you two."

Sarah slid a medical mask in Urey's hand, doing her own observation of the man. He gratefully slid it into place, blocking out a little of the scent of burnt flesh. "We're gonna have to work fast," she said. "We don't have any sedatives left. Langely went to get more."

"Burns are highly susceptible to infection," Urey said unnecessarily, eyes still lingering on the young man's face. He couldn't be more than twenty. "And with such a wide area…"

"We'll worry about that later," Sarah interrupted, reaching across the man for the antiseptic and quickly coating the wounds with the paste. "For now, let's just make sure he survives long enough to worry about infection."

Urey nodded and turned his attention to the man's shoulder, a scalpel in hand, and began debriding the disinfected skin. His attention flicked to the man's face at regular intervals to make sure the man was still breathing before turning immediately back to the horrible wounds. The burns rippled across the man's skin, the severity decreasing from right to left across the body. The exception was the man's left forearm, which showed signs of protecting his face from the blast, though the burns weren't as serious as his right hand.

Sarah had finished disinfecting the worst of the burns and taken up a pair of scissors to clear the man's torso of the dead skin. Urey finished what he could of the shoulder area and sent another appraising glance at the man's face before moving on further down the arm.

He was stunned to see the man's eyes cracked open and blinking blearily at him. "Sarah, he's awake," Urey mumbled to her, not wanting to startle the man. She nodded without looking up, and he abandoned the scalpel on the table in favor of leaning in front of the man to block his view of her. The last thing a trauma patient needed was to see the extent of their trauma. Especially when his stillness was key to a quick treatment.

"Hey," Urey said in a gentle voice, waiting for the man's wandering eyes to meet with his own. They were dark, nearly obsidian, and sunken into his Xingese features. "My name's Urey Rockbell. I'm a doctor. I know you're in pain right now, and probably really confused, but I need you to stay as still as possible. Can you do that for me?"

The man's eyes had grown sharper and more aware as Urey spoke, his face tighter as the pain made its way past his mental confusion. As the sensations grew, he began to squirm, breaking eye contact with Urey and rolling his head as his limbs jerked spastically. Sarah grunted from behind Urey as the scalpel slipped across the writhing form.

Urey laid a restraining hand on the man's forehead, getting close enough that the man had no choice but to keep eye contact. His warnings clearly hadn't registered the first time, and he really needed the man to understand what he was saying. At least until the sedatives arrived.

"You need to stay still. You're really injured. Now, we're going to help, but we can't do that if you're fighting us." The man's eyes strayed to the side again, trying to catch a glimpse behind Urey at his surroundings. Urey tapped the man's cheek impatiently. "Hey. Do you understand me?"

The man's chapped lips opened, but only a low croaking groan came out. His legs continued to scramble against the table, his back trying to arch but not quite strong enough to get past the pain, his left hand scratching at the table.

"Urey?" Sarah prompted from behind him, currently laying on the man's thigh to prevent most of his movement as she finished the last of his stomach.

"I'm trying," he told her before turning once again to the man.

He cleared his voice, thought of the last time he had heard a commander yell at a subordinate and did his best impression with the hope he didn't sound like a complete idiot. "Soldier. Listen up." The man's eyes locked on Urey once again, this time with a focus that was honestly a bit unnerving. "You have to stay still. Stop moving."

It was a bit sickening when the soldier did exactly that, restraining himself despite the pain that had to be absolute agony. The conditioning this man had to have gone through to follow orders like that…

Urey's expression softened. "What's your name, soldier?"

The man blinked at him. Sarah cursed under her breath at some unknown issue and he tried to look around Urey again. "Hey, no. Come on, look at me." The man once again focused on Urey. "What's your name?" Urey repeated.

His adam's apple bobbed as he cleared his throat several times. Even after the repeated attempts, his voice still sounded like gravel. "Roy."

"Roy," Urey repeated. The newly dubbed Roy nodded, grimacing at the movement. "Alright, Roy. I'm Urey Rockbell. Behind me is my wife Sarah. We're doctors. You were in an explosion and got a few burns all along your right side."

Urey figured this soldier would appreciate knowing. He looked like someone who prided himself on having control over a situation. "We're fixing you up now. I know you're in pain, but you have to stay calm and still. The sooner this is done, the sooner you'll feel better, alright?"

Roy gave another infinitesimal nod before squeezing his eyes shut and forcing his head against the sheets, a small whimper escaping but no other movement twitching along his limbs. Urey gave the man a comforting stroke through the hair before once again grabbing the scalpel and returning to the marred flesh.

Urey was applying more antibiotics on Roy's shoulder when another desperate whimper shook Roy's entire frame. Well, shook it more than it had been already. Despite the injured soldier's best efforts, his body had broken out into shivers that had been slowly growing in intensity to full body shudders.

Continuous pain was never easy for the human body to handle.

Urey tried to ignore Roy's pained whimper, knowing there was nothing he could do to ease his pain.

"Urey," his wife called softly. She nodded a pained look towards Roy's head, where his entire face was scrunched up in barely repressed agony. Involuntary tears worked their way down his burnt cheeks, no doubt leaving trails of stinging nettle as they went.

Roy's left hand was once again scratching at the table beneath him, searching for purchase on something beyond the pain. He look like he wanted to reach for something but couldn't quite find the energy to move beyond stuttering twitches.

"Roy?" Urey called softly. "You still with me?"

His only reply was another pained groan.

Reluctantly, the doctor left his post at the soldier's shoulder and stooped beside his head. He ran careful fingers through his hair again. "Roy, can you open your eyes for me?"

Urey was incredibly grateful that there weren't many people in the room any longer. The rush of injured and medics had long since drifted away; the skirmish not causing even half of the casualties they had feared. Otherwise, the only comfort Roy would receive would be a euthanizing bullet.

The soldier's eyes peeled open. The process looked so exhausting that even Urey felt drained of energy. Dull eyes focused on the doctor, sending a jolt of shivers down his spine. He had seen that look on too many men to delude himself of its meaning.

"Hey, you're not giving up, are you?"

He was giving up.

"You need to stay strong, okay?"

Cracked lips parted, and a deathly tired voice barely reached Urey's ears. "I can't feel my hand." It lacked any of the emotions that should accompany such a declaration. No fear or pain or stress; just a vague sounding disappointment.

Urey twisted to glance at the mentioned hand. Sarah was currently doing what she could to clean it up, but the truth was that it was far beyond their abilities to save. They had debated amputating it; mangled as it was, he would definitely lose a few fingers not matter what, and the risk of infection was dangerously high.

But if he could get decent medical care soon, in a sterilized surgical facility, he might be able to keep the limb with only a few impairments. Automail was a lifelong pain to deal with, and something they hoped to save him from.

"Do you feel any sensation at all?" Urey asked. Sarah sent a sharp glance his way at the indelicacy of the question, which he fully agreed with. But his bedside manner had suffered in recent months and he knew it was something they needed to know.

Roy shook his head infinitesimally.

That complicated matters.

"Roy. This isn't the end. At the worst, your hand will be a bit more metallic than it once was. Your life is still yours as long as you don't give up on it."

"Hurts," was all he managed.

"I know it does. But you can push through it. You've done so well so far."

Urey hesitated. "And the sedatives are on their way here. If you can just last that long, we'll be that much closer to fixing this."

The sedatives still hadn't arrived and Urey was becoming really concerned for the man they sent out to get them.

Worst of all was that the patient that needed them most was losing the last of his mental fortitude.

"Burn wounds… easily infected," the dark-haired man muttered. "Won't last long anyway."

Urey cursed his sharp intellect. "You won't know if you don't fight through it. Don't you have something worth fighting for?"

Roy blinked several times, seemingly surprised by the question. A contemplative look took over his features, still tightened with pain but absent from reality. Urey let him think for a few minutes, but found himself unwilling to let the degrading man drift in his own possibly morbid thoughts.

"Well?"

Roy closed his eyes, a defeated look once again taking control. A heavy sigh escaped from his cracked lips, sending his body into a new wave of pained shivers. Urey put a hand on Roy's less burned elbow, planning to shake some sense into him if he had to.

Roy's eyes opened before he hand the chance. "Hawkeye would shoot me if I died," Roy said. Urey felt the panic drain out of his muscles, his searching eyes finding something new in Roy's expression.

There was fire in his eyes.

Urey gave a short laugh. "I assume 'Hawkeye' is a friend of yours?"

Roy's lips quirked into the faintest of smirks in reply.

"Well, do you have any other friends that would threaten your death if you died?"

"Probably-" he was interrupted with a pained groan- "Maes, too." Something between a fond smile and a grimace shaped his mouth at the mention of Maes.

"Are your friends aware that death generally exempts people from threats of death?" Urey asked wryly, unwilling to stop the conversation when he had just found a spark in the man.

The comment proved to be a misstep on his part when Roy tried to laugh and instead broke into a coughing fit that left him helplessly moaning for several unbearably long minutes. Urey muttered soothing words to the suffering man, continuing to stroke comfortingly through his hair, until he once again worked up the will to open his eyes.

"I don't think they would really care," Roy answered at length, wry amusement clear whenever he spoke of them.

A sad smile crept up on Urey's lips. "They sound like good friends."

"Yeah," Roy sighed. "They are."


	2. Kindle

It was never easy listing off injuries to a patient. It often felt like, no matter how delicate he was trying to be, he was merely reciting a grocery list and not the debilitating results of a traumatic experience.

They would start off with this hopeful expression (or hopeless, depending on the extent of the injury- the hopeless just waited with a dejected certainty, already dead before the doctor even said a word). Some would attempt to restrain the desperate glimmer, attempt to be realistic about it all.

There's no way to be realistic about the knowledge that you may never use a hand again. You can pretend that you know what such a thought entails, but, until you live it, it is a mere nightmare. It is still an idea that can be combated by hope.

Hope was a double edged sword, and watching it be doused underneath stifled tears was a horrible thing to witness.

Roy was one of the 'realistic' ones. His face was set in a determined scowl and his eyes, so far, were utterly dry. He paid rapt attention, and tried to look as dignified as he could laid out on his side and conversing at a perpendicular angle. His voice, what little he spoke, was deep and soothing, never betraying his calm. "I'm no stranger to burn wounds," he had said with an ironic laugh.

But his false composure was given away by the fixed lock Roy kept on his doctor -his eyes never straying far enough to evaluate the damage for himself.

This was going to be rough, Urey knew. Tough guys like young soldiers always approached every problem as if it was fixable if they just put enough effort into it. They always had trouble accepting the idea that their bodies could betray them, that sheer will wouldn't bring back what they had lost. Hopefully, that determination would stick around long enough for Roy to get past the worst of this.

They all start off with a hopeful glint or a determined glare.

" _Two broken ribs- most likely from the building's collapse…"_

A flicker of emotion, perhaps even relief, as they think, 'well that isn't so bad'.

" _A mild concussion, along with partial deafness in the right ear. The deafness is either from the explosion or the rubble, but either way it's temporary."_

Then the fear begins to grow in their eyes.

" _The burns are, obviously, the most serious injury."_

Their hands curl into white-knuckled fists, if they still have hands with which to do so. Roy struggles with it only for a moment before forcing his bandaged fingers to relax.

" _The right side is much more severely burned than the left. Third and fourth degree burns along the shoulder and torso."_

Their jaws clench.

" _It will require grafted skin in order to heal somewhat properly."_

Their jaws clench so tightly it seemed their tendons would snap.

" _Recovery will take years of physical therapy, otherwise the skin will shrivel and the majority of the range of motion will be lost."_

Roy's teeth were grinding into a fine powder. The dogged refusal to show emotion was still in control.

" _Second degree burns around the edges of the third degree, as well as the left hand and forearm. With care and treatment, those will heal relatively well._

" _The right hand and forearm are a different story.'_

His horrified eyes tracked down from his fixed glare at Urey to the limb laying limply at his side. The bandages hid the damage, made the injury seem less real than it really was. Still, Urey knew Roy had at least an inkling of what he was about to say. The soldier had been struggling to twitch even a finger ever since he had woken up.

Even now, his eyebrows drew together in concentration as he glared down at the offending appendage as if he could frighten it into moving; and if he could, then maybe what Urey was about to tell him wouldn't be so bad. Urey found himself watching the hand and hoping the same thing.

It remained traitorously still.

Clearing his throat, the doctor continued with a dry mouth. "It was apparently at the forefront of the explosion. Probably saved the majority of your face from extensive damage."

If there was one thing to be grateful for, it was that. Roy was, admittedly, a handsome young man, and it would have been a shame if his Xingese features had been defiled by the explosion. Also, pain like that would have probably sent him over the edge before the Rockbells could do anything to help him.

"However, the limb itself is… severely damaged."

That was one word for it. This was when the Urey's hatred of shopping lists came into play. He could rattle off the medical terminology for everything and try to explain it in scientific terms, leaving the patient utterly confused and suitably horrified, or he could oversimplify it with words like 'severely damaged'.

"The explosion itself caused some concussive damage," not as much as it should have, but Urey wasn't going to question a good thing, "and cracked the bones in a few places." Roy looked utterly confounded by this, looking down at his hand with bewilderment as he tried to understand why his bones could be in several pieces without him even noticing. "However, the fire caused significant damage to the nerves. Simply put, they were burned away."

Ah, Roy knew exactly what that meant. His face crumpled for a brief moment, and it was then that Urey thought the man might allow those tears past his eyes. But then he wiped the slate clean, face falling into a stone facade of neutrality that hurt to witness.

"It's not completely gone though, right?" The soldier asked. His voice was raspy and dry, barely managing to rise above the other noises in the room from the other medics and patients. He probably wouldn't manage anything louder than a low mutter for at least a few days.

Urey would have assumed the question was made from his desperation if it weren't for the sharp glint in his eye. "You would have just amputated it if it were. Most triage doctors would have anyway. _You_ cleaned and bandaged it, as if it were salvageable."

It _was_ desperation, but it was a desperation fueled by logic.

"Perhaps," the doctor explained slowly. "It may be salvageable. With a proper hospital and medical equipment, it's possible a surgeon could salvage at least some maneuverability."

"It's possible then," Roy insisted. "That's all I need."

He shifted, as if trying to sit up, but he barely moved his shoulder before he was pressing his forehead desperately against the bed and trying not to make a sound. Urey put a gentle hand on his waist, partially as a restraint and partially a comfort.

"Roy…" The doctor started hesitantly. "We'll do everything we can to help you, but you need to recognize something."

He didn't look up at the doctor, but the trembling lessened slightly as he forced himself to stillness.

"This type of surgery is expensive." _Really expensive._ "The military may not… bother… with trying to repair such a damaged limb." Roy flinched. "Once you get back to your camp, the triage doctors there may decide it isn't worth it." Urey swallowed. "You should probably be prepared for that."

"That's not going to happen," the soldier's voice was muffled from the sheets. Still, the stubborn denial could not be mistaken.

"Kid…" Urey chastised quietly. He debated on the point of trying to push the issue. "They get a lot of cases like yours every day-"

"It's not going to happen," the soldier's voice was more forceful than Urey had thought possible for his damaged throat, his eyes hard embers when he raised his head to glare at Urey, "because I'm too important to them." Roy's mouth twisted into a dark smirk. "They can't let me slip through the cracks."

That last part was hilarious to the soldier, as he rolled his head back and restrained a few ill-advised chuckles.

Urey bit his lip, but said nothing. There were very few people the upper echelons found worth caring about, and the majority of them were the godawful state alchemists sent in to raze the land. A young soldier like Roy didn't matter to the brass beyond if he could shoot a gun.

"We'll do what we can," Urey promised with a dry mouth. "We just have to wait until the fighting dies down a bit so we can transport everyone in relative safety."

Hopefully the new hotbed this place had become would die out quickly. The sooner they could get Roy to proper medical care, in an actual hospital, the better.

* * *

"Alright, raise it again," Sarah instructed, politely ignoring the pained and almost whiney look on Roy's face.

"Doc, if this is some form of torture I don't know about, I'd really appreciate being told so I can at least scream curse words while I'm at it." He was only partially joking.

Sara rolled her eyes. "Well, this is just rehabilitation, not some long plot to make you reveal state secrets. That doesn't seem to be keeping you from the curse words anyway, so I suppose it doesn't really matter. Arm," she reminded patiently.

With a resigned sigh, Roy fixed another glare at his right arm. Slowly, shaking uncontrollably, the limb attempted to raise from its position at his side. Sarah's hands hovered inches away, guiding its process. It made it to about a forty degree angle, and then just stopped. His muscles were screaming at him now, protesting the movement in the loudest way possible.

The soldier bit his lip and glared even harder at the limb, trying to order it through sheer bullheaded determination it suck it up and lift higher. It remained fixed in its place, save for the shaking that had grown even more violent.

Sara was watching both limb and expression carefully, and the moment his face crumpled and his strength left him, she was already propping the limb up and holding it steady as the man no longer could.

The relaxation of his muscles made the pain a bit easier to bare, and Roy sent a grateful look her way.

"Great job Roy," she praised calmly, looking happy with his failure rather than frustrated.

Roy couldn't say he shared her pride in his forty-five degree angle. It was rather pathetic considering normal range of motion was 180 degrees or more. He suddenly felt exhausted, and just wanted to close his eyes and pretend the world didn't have a cruel sense of irony.

She watched him carefully. "I'd like to keep going. Can you do that?"

For a moment, he didn't answer. Finally, forcing a nod, he closed his eyes and faced his head away, already gritting his teeth.

"How's the district looking?" He managed to ask, looking for distraction more than information about the battle front.

Sara didn't reply for a moment, choosing instead to concentrate as she lifted his arm up millimeter by agonizing millimeter. Roy knew that the doctors were worried he was getting obsessive about it. Asking at least once a day for the last eight days will leave that sort of impression. This was the second time today, but, again, it was more for the distraction than the information that he asked.

"Paul went out again today," she finally replied, rotating his arm until he winced and then holding it. "He said it was the same as before. Lots of guerilla tactics in some sections, trench warfare in others. Either way, both sides are jumpy enough that we can't risk going out there, not even to help the wounded. There's too many twitchy trigger fingers for it to be even remotely safe."

Unspoken was that it was too dangerous to attempt to transport the wounded to their respective sides. Even the walking wounded, perfectly capable of stumbling back to their own camps without an entire medical entourage, were wary of finding themselves on the wrong end of a nervous gun.

And Roy's injuries were a bit too serious to be classified at 'walking' at this point. Technically, he could argue -and he did on multiple occasions- his legs were perfectly fine. In fact, they were the least damaged part of him. Of course, it was a rather weak argument to his doctors whenever they found him out of bed without their permission.

"Are there any State Alchemists in the area?" He doubted it. He would have heard the explosions if there were.

"No. The Flame Alchemist was nearby a couple of weeks ago, but he must have been sent to a different area. There haven't been any burn victims beside you." She shot a scowl at him. "For which you should be thankful for. We wouldn't bother to babysit your antics if we had other, more mature patients that don't get out of bed the moment we turn around."

Roy looked scandalized. "More mature?" he repeated. "I'm perfectly mature." He ignored the voice in his head that reminded him he was the youngest State Alchemist in history, and had the naive idealism to prove it.

"No, mature adults are polite to their doctors and listen to their orders and thank them for their hard work."

"I'm polite! An actual gentleman," he continued to protest.

Sara laughed. "Sure. When you want something you can be impeccably polite."

She took an analytical look at his face, which had grown pale and sweaty as the therapy continued. His arm was shaking uncontrollably, even with her steadying hands, and he looked a bit nauseous as well.

The doctor lowered his hand down to his side with a sigh, and reached over to help him get the sling back on. He kept his eyes on her face, despite the fact she knew she was giving him an accidental look at her cleavage, and she had to agree with him. The soldier was actually a very polite man, if a little manipulative or childish sometimes.

"Alright. Just sit and rest for a few minutes." She helped him adjust so he was sitting against the wall. "I have some other patients to check up on, but I should be back to help with the other hand in a bit."

Roy snagged her hand right before she left. "Doctor." His expression was of nothing but sincerity. "Thank you."

"You're welcome Roy," she returned with the same sincerity. "Get some rest." She patted his shin comfortingly before moving away.


End file.
